


you find me in places where i've been hiding away

by stevebuckiest



Series: chris and andy are in love [1]
Category: Defending Jacob (TV 2020), Destroyer (2018)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Character Study, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time Bottoming, I mention what his dad is in prison for so look out for that ?, Kink Exploration, M/M, Praise Kink, Touch-Starved, forgot ab that one, just to top it all off, lol, so much of that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24773761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevebuckiest/pseuds/stevebuckiest
Summary: He wonders if she had ever seen what he sees in Andy, ever given it to him, or if he’s the only one who’s noticed. Had Andy been hiding it from her? There’s a heavy feeling in Chris that makes him think that Andy’s been hiding it from even himself- or even worse, she had seen it and ignored it. Left him without for so long that he doesn’t know how to want it anymore, let alone ask for it.(alternatively, Andy just wants to be told he's good. And he is, that much Chris can see)
Relationships: Chris (Destroyer)/ Andy Barber
Series: chris and andy are in love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1809163
Comments: 16
Kudos: 146





	you find me in places where i've been hiding away

**Author's Note:**

> don't ask now this got to be so long. i don't have an explanation. also don't ask why i chose for him to be PI because really i have no idea what that job is like, i just didn't want him to be anything close to a cop. hope you enjoy ! andy barber just wants to be good.

Chris isn’t exactly sure what he’s expecting of ‘Bloody’ Billy Barber’s son when he meets him. The guy had hired him only yesterday with the only explanation being “for some stuff concerning his father”, a murder-rapist serving life in the state prison. It wasn’t exactly hard to look up Andrew’s basic information and a few grainy photos from various newspapers in regards to his work, but there wasn’t enough floating around for Chris to build a real profile in relation to his father, probably an intentional attempt to distance from the name on Andrew’s part. Smart. But Chris is a PI. He’s supposed to be good at reading people, even ones he hasn’t met- which means cataloging information, making assumptions about them based off of their surroundings as well as their file. 

As he walks up to the Barber household, that’s what he’s doing. It isn’t that hard at first- not when Andrew Barber (according to what Chris has read and is looking at right now) is a fairly prominent lawyer that lives in an upper middle-class suburb with his wife, drives an Audi, and has a garden outside his house that looks like it’s straight out of _Home Magazine._ All that’s missing is a white picket fence, but it looks like the Barbers had opted for a rustic wood stained look instead. Can’t have everything, right?

Chris snorts at the picture-perfectness of it all and tries not to feel horribly underdressed when he steps up on the porch and rings the doorbell. He’s adjusting his jacket and preparing to pull his ID out for the typical introductory speech he gives to clients when the door cracks open and the appearance of the client in question throws him for a loop in a way that’s entirely unprofessional. 

The man that slowly looks him up and down from the other side of the doorway is more handsome than the few low-quality pictures Chris had managed to find had been able to portray (it was odd to Chris that Andrew has no social media or photos of himself on friends’- Christ, he’s 35, not 70), but that isn’t what has Chris blinking in surprise. He’s a grown man for god’s sake, and he’s seen and been with more than a few pretty men in his life (although admittedly none with a bottom lip as plump and pink as Andrew Barber’s)- the point is he’s completely capable of appreciating just how gorgeous his client is without letting it have an impact on his work. He knows how to separate the two and make them coexist.

No, that’s not what’s got him staring. Like he said, part of being a PI is making assumptions, and Chris knows that the assumptions he makes aren’t always going to be correct but- this is not what anything he had observed about Andrew Barber prior to this had been leading him to expect to find. 

Andrew is definitely far above average on the looks scale, but even that isn’t enough to disguise how much of a mess he currently is. His blue eyes have bags under them so deep he looks like he’s been punched, his hair is sticking up in a frantic manner, and the t-shirt and sweats he’s wearing are so wrinkled that Chris suspects he’s been wearing them for more than a few days. One glance behind him into his house shows that all the lights are off and there’s a pillow and blanket on the couch that Chris assumes means Andrew is sleeping there.

So much for Chris worrying about being underdressed. 

All in all, Andrew looks nothing like the put-together exterior of his house or the sleek upper-class powerhouse lawyer type Chris had assumed he would be from everything he had seen about him so far. No, rather than that, he looks tired. Like he hasn’t slept in nearly a month. 

It’s a stark contrast seeing him slouched like this in the doorway of his perfectly pristine home. Chris already has a million questions forming in his mind. 

He knows he’s probably been staring at him for a bit too long without putting any effort forth in introducing himself, but he can’t force himself to look away until Andrew clears his throat and starts the introduction for him. 

“You must be the detective?” he asks roughly, shifting back in a manner that Chris takes to be an invitation to come inside. He finally pulls himself together enough to nod and accept the cue, stepping over the threshold and into the darkened interior of the house’s entryway. Andrew flips on the light once he’s shut the door behind him. 

Chris tries not to get distracted by the way the other man winces at the sudden brightness (when was the last time he wasn’t in the dark?), instead moving forward with the introduction spiel he had botched giving earlier. He flashes his ID and holds out his other hand, waiting for Andrew to shake it before speaking. “You can call me Chris.”

Andrew’s grip is still firm despite the exhaustion written all over his face. “Andy.”

That’s seemingly all he has to say at the moment, dropping Chris’s hand and turning to walk towards the kitchen, flipping the living room lights on in the process. Chris trails behind him, silently taking in the interior he hadn’t been able to clock from the doorway and coming to a halt once Andrew- Andy- stops them in the kitchen to open the fridge and pull out a beer. 

He throws a glance over his shoulder. “You want one?” he offers, a perfunctory smile flashing over his features, lower half shrouded by his slightly unkempt beard. 

Chris shakes his head. “As tempting as the offer is, I shouldn’t drink on the job.”

“Sorry. Should have known.” Andy shuts the fridge, voice half-heartedly apologetic. “You mind if I drink one?” he asks, but he’s already cracking the bottle open before Chris manages to shake his head, so Chris isn’t even sure why he asked permission. It irritates him the slightest amount, but he can’t be mad at the way Andy’s throat looks when he tosses his head back and takes a long first swig.

Chris shifts, forcing his eyes away. It’s okay to notice these things, but he has a job to get to and he isn’t about to neglect it. He waits for Andy to swallow before he speaks up. “So,” he says, purposely keeping his tone businesslike. “You said you needed my help regarding your father? I looked into him. Hell of a man you’re related to, I’ll admit, but what seems to be the problem with him?” He leans against the kitchen island, filing away the way Andy freezes at the mere mention of the man. “Besides the obvious.”

Andy forces out a laugh. “Besides the murder and rape you mean?” he says bitterly, setting his beer down so hard on the counter that Chris almost feels bad for the joke. His shoulders draw up tight and he crosses his arms across his chest in the same manner. Chris is no expert in body language, but it almost looks like the man is trying to hold himself together. Or maybe protect himself from someone that isn’t ever here. 

He clears his throat and tries to avoid the sinking suspicion he has about why Andy Barber looks like he hasn’t seen the sun or a good night’s rest in weeks, opting to press a little gentler than he had been before. He needs this information, after all. Not going to get anywhere from upsetting the person who holds it.

Plus, he’s not enough of a dick to want to directly discomfort the defensive man currently standing in front of him. Call him soft, but he doesn’t think being rough with this guy is going to do much in his favor- at least, not after they’ve just met.

It’s got nothing to do with the job, but he doesn’t get the impression that Andy would mind Chris being rough with him- the guy definitely doesn’t trust him yet despite being the one who chose him, but Chris isn’t blind to the way Andy had sized him up in more ways than just suspiciously when he first looked at him. He’s trying not to think too hard about that, though, not when he knows Andy has a wife. Chris does a lot of things, but cheating (especially with a man who is most likely closeted, based off of the way Andy holds himself) isn’t one of them.

“He’s in prison, I’m aware,” he says cautiously, focusing on that instead.

Andy nods tersely, unwinding one hand from around himself to grab at his beer again and take an encouraging sip. “Has been since I was a kid. I haven’t seen or talked to him since he went in, and our last interaction wasn’t exactly a good one.”

“Has he tried to contact you?” He feels a strange bit of protectiveness rise up in himself at the quiet anxiety that crosses Andy’s face at the memory of last seeing his father, but he ignores it and purposefully chalks it up to concern about doing his job well.

Andy bites his lower lip and pauses before answering. “Not...directly,” he admits. “But that’s kind of the problem at hand.” He sucks in a terse breath and runs a hand through his hair, voice and stance growing harder with agitation. “He started calling me a few months ago. I have no idea how he got my phone number, but after the first few random calls I just stopped picking them up. I…” He swallows. “I thought that would be the end of it, but he somehow got Laurie’s number and started calling her as well.”

Chris hates to interrupt when Andy has finally started to lay out the problem (hates the thought of discussing his wife as well) but he feels the need to clarify. “Laurie as in your wife?”

Andy’s jaw clenches noticeably. “Ex-wife,” he says softly.

Chris keeps his face even, but internally raises his eyebrows. That explains even more of his disheveled state. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to say sorry- he’s dealt with countless cases over the years involving divorces and break-ups, but Andy's expression during the revelation is unreadable. Chris decides to just move on, nodding slowly. “When was the last time he called you?”

“It’s been about a week,” Andy responds morosely, but then he’s pulling his arms tight again. Chris can already tell that’s one of his defense mechanisms, and something in him is hopelessly endeared and saddened by it. It’s almost like he’s hugging himself. “But…” Andy trails off. “That’s not the only thing.”

He’s biting his lip again, obviously unsure about going on, and Chris is speaking before he even realizes it. “Go on,” he encourages. It comes out as more of an order than a request. Andy gives him an odd look at it and huffs, but squares his shoulders and continues. 

“After the last time I didn’t pick up I started noticing a car always sitting outside of places I am. My job, the grocery store, even on my block. I’ve never been able to get a good look at who's in it- and believe me, I’ve tried, but the one time I went up to the window, even the crow bar wasn’t enough to get them to tell me what they want. They just drove off and came back the next day.” He laughs bitterly, finishing off his beer with a final sip. “I’m positive it’s my fucking father behind it. Last night they pulled up right in front of my house and spent all night there, so I figured I better call someone to help that isn’t just me trying to play vigilante.”

“And the police weren’t an option?” Chris asks, not reacting to the icy glare Andy fixes him with besides giving him a pointed look. It’s a legitimate question, he doesn’t need to pitch a fit. 

Andy scowls and turns away to set his bottle by the sink alongside a stack of neglected dishes. “You know damn well all they would do is write down a statement and tell me to call if it escalates. They wouldn’t do a damn thing until it’s too late, so I figured I might as well take matters into my own hands and figure out what the fuck is going on.”

“Fair,” Chris concedes. “There’s a reason I’m a PI and not a police detective. But you don’t think your city would grant you some extra attention if you asked? Some extra patrols in your neighborhood or some shit? You’re a hotshot in the DA’s office according to what I’ve read.”

Andy glares at him again, but this time his face is more resigned. He scrubs a distracting hand over his beard, expression pinched. “I’m sure they would if I asked,” he says. “But I’m not going to. For one, it isn’t fair to everyone who isn’t a ‘hotshot’.” He says the last word sarcastically, making Chris raise his eyebrows at him. “I’m not going to take advantage of unjust favoritism.” He goes quiet for a moment, expression growing more shuttered the next time he speaks. “None of the people I work with know about who my father is, either,” he says brusquely. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”

His tone is final. Chris has no choice but to nod and let it go. “Okay,” he says finally, shoving his hands into the back pockets of his jeans while he thinks. “Can you tell me what kind of car it is?”

Andy’s answer is immediate. “Blue Lincoln. I don’t know what year, but it looks pretty beat up. Scuff on the rear left passenger door”

“Good job on the details,” Chris hums. He doesn’t miss the slight flush that covers Andy’s face at the praise. He isn’t sure what to make of that quite yet but...it’s something. Maybe a mystery to solve on top of the one he’s being paid to investigate now that he knows the wife is no longer strictly in the picture. Still, there’s one investigation that comes first. “Have you considered not staying here at night?” he asks. “When was the last time you went to work?”

Andy looks suddenly guarded despite the fact Chris hadn’t said anything to attack him. “I’m...taking some personal time,” he defends. “I’m in the process of packing my stuff up to move.” He gestures to the boxes strewn around the edge of the living room.

“And here I thought you were just partial to recyclable decor,” Chris says drily. Andy rolls his eyes. “But really, you should consider staying somewhere safer or having someone stay with you. Honestly, I know the hotel in town is ridiculously overpriced for the quality, but it’s safer than being here alone. I’d rather you stay there. But if you insist on staying here, can you at least ask a friend to stay with you?”

Andy’s eyes are suddenly willing to look anywhere that isn’t at Chris. “I, um- I don’t have anyone to ask.” The admission is hushed. Andy looks embarrassed, vaguely ashamed but trying desperately to play it off like he isn’t. “I can take care of myself,” he says quickly, eyeing Chris like he’s daring him to show any pity. “I don’t want to get anyone else involved if I can help it.”

That overprotective feeling is swelling back up in Chris’s gut, both at the idea of Andy spending all his time here alone- in danger, for fuck’s sake because he’s too embarassed and proud to ask for help outside of hiring Chris. And really, it only makes sense for his next words to come out the way they do-

“Can we compromise? How about I stay here until we know what’s going on? That way you get to stay at home, I get to do my job and make sure you don’t get murdered. I can even get a better look at that Lincoln if it shows up,” he suggests, silently praying that Andy won’t turn tail and fire him for overstepping. He just looks so damn lonely, cooped up in this big house alone, and Chris isn’t lying about being uncomfortable with the idea of him being in danger. 

Sure, he’s known the guy for a grand total of an hour (plus all the work-related stalking) but the thought of him handling this alone like he’s obviously been doing for the past few months is unpleasant to say the least. 

Andy looks at him with a slightly gaping mouth and Chris holds his breath while he waits for an answer. It’s a few more seconds before Andy responds, shaking his head. “I can’t ask you to do that,” he says stubbornly. “I hired you to be a PI, not a bodyguard. It’s not fair to you.”

Chris huffs, rolling his eyes. “You didn’t ask me for shit, I offered,” he says firmly. Andy’s lower lip tucks itself into his mouth at that, and Chris files that away as well. “And honestly, Andy, I’m not doing my job right if I let you endanger yourself with my knowledge. I’m not a bodyguard, but I do make it my personal goal to make sure my clients are safe.” He pauses, taking in Andy’s now slightly hesitant expression. “If you’re uncomfortable with the idea of me staying here…”

“I’m not,” Andy rushes out. “I just don’t want to inconvenience you.”

Chris sighs, lifting a hand to rub it over his beard. Andy’s eyes track the movement. “You won’t be inconveniencing me,” he says. “This is my job.” _Yeah, keep telling yourself that buddy,_ his brain unhelpfully supplies.

Andy huffs and crosses his arms again. “Fine.” He throws a hand up in defeat.

Chris has to make an effort not to look amused at the borderline petulance he’s exhibiting, reminding himself firmly exactly what he needs to focus on first, which is keeping his client safe and doing his job. “Fine.”

Andy pushes himself off the counter and starts to walk out of the kitchen, gesturing for Chris to follow him out into the living room towards the stairs. “You can take the bedroom,” he says over his shoulder, starting to climb the stairs. Chris pointedly doesn’t look at his ass. Or, he tries not to. It’s hard when it looks good even in ratty sweats. “I’ve been sleeping on the couch and the bedroom has a better view of the street anyways.” He pushes open the bedroom door once they arrive at it and lets Chris walk ahead of him into the sadly barren room. It’s got almost nothing in it but the bed, a half empty closet, and a couple boxes sitting in the corner and end of the bed. “Don’t feel like you’re putting me out,” Andy laughs emptily. “I haven’t slept in here in months.”

Chris isn’t sure what to say to that, instead settling for walking over to the window and glancing down at the street. His car is the only one parked on it. “Sounds good,” he says finally. “I’ve got some spare clothes in the car, so I’m all set on that front.” He turns back around and fixes Andy with a careful look. “We’re gonna figure this out, you know,” he tells him, just to try and alleviate some of the stress the other man is holding in his shoulders.

He can’t even imagine the pressure, the _loneliness_ he must have been feeling for the past few months. Handling this monstrosity of a situation in private while going through a divorce, too proud and protective of others to let them try and help him. 

It’s sad that it took him this long to reach out to someone, even a stranger, but Chris is glad it was him Andy came to. 

Andy just looks at him silently, expression guarded and posture stiff. Chris knows he shouldn’t, and he won’t, but he wants nothing more than to tell Andy that he’s done so well, been so strong. The naturally dominant side of him bets being told he’s good would make the other man melt, but he doesn’t want to push it when he’s just gotten Andy a little more comfortable with him. So he doesn’t praise him, no matter how much he wants to. No matter how much Andy deserves it. Not yet. 

Andy doesn’t answer for a long moment, but when he does his voice is hoarse and he’s started to hug himself again, arms crossed tight. “Thank you.” The gratitude is genuine, even if it’s hesitantly given.

“Just doing my job.”

___

  
  


By the time Chris heads up to the bedroom that night, he’s beginning to think he’s in over his head. Not because of the case- no, he’s pretty sure this will be a fairly direct process of finding out who the Lincoln’s driver is, linking them to Andy’s father, and reporting it to the prison or the driver’s parole officer. It’s more so...Andy.

He’s complicated, that much Chris can tell just by spending the evening with him. After Chris had finished scoping out the bedroom and grabbing clothes from his car, Andy had suggested they order some takeout and discuss more of what Billy might want and the ties that Andy was aware that he had in prison. It had been a productive night. Chris had figured out a couple leads to chase down tomorrow, gotten a look into Billy’s MO and (lack of) relationship with his son. It was good.

The problem is, Andy is _also_ good. Painfully so. Not...perfect. He’s definitely a little headstrong and pushy, but Chris is pretty sure it’s more of a desire to be helpful and protect people than it is a desire to be in charge. It seems he’s used to that, though. One of the town’s leading attorneys, grown up the only male in his household, married to his college sweetheart at a young age after she got pregnant but then sadly miscarried- from what Chris has been made aware of, Andy’s been the one protecting people for most of his life, if not all of it. 

That just makes it even more heart wrenching for Chris to realize that Andy has difficulty accepting help and protection because he’s never had anyone give it to him in return. 

He hadn’t talked much about his wife tonight outside of mentioning his father had stopped bothering her once they divorced, how she had been upset Andy had never told her about who he was- he hadn’t seemed too torn up about her, though, just giving Chris a rueful smile as if to say _what can you do?_

Chris can think of a lot of things he can do, which is part of the problem. Something about the younger man, even after just meeting him...he already feels attached. 

He’s stuck between thinking about case leads and the way Andy’s eyes had gone glassy and extra blue after his first few drinks at dinner while he strips of his day clothes into a t-shirt and briefs so he can slide into Andy’s bed after glancing out the window to see if there’s any sign of the Lincoln.

Or, well, what used to be Andy’s bed. The sheets and pillows are cold to the touch when Chris climbs underneath them and he can’t help but suddenly picture Andy laying here night after night next to his frigid wife, angry at him for not wanting to discuss something that so obviously tore him up inside to the point of being uncomfortable with the past trauma it dredged up. He hates that image, and has a sudden wave of what he knows is probably unjustified hatred for the woman who used to share this bed with the man sleeping on the couch downstairs.

He’s better than this, usually. It most likely isn’t fair to have such ill feelings for a woman he’s never met, but he doesn’t care at the moment, not when all he can picture is Andy’s distressed face that had highlighted half of their conversations earlier. 

He wonders if she had ever seen what he sees in Andy, ever given it to him, or if he’s the only one who’s noticed. Had Andy been hiding it from her? There’s a heavy feeling in Chris that makes him think that Andy’s been hiding it from even himself- or even worse, she had seen it and ignored it. Left him without for so long that he doesn’t know _how_ to want it anymore, let alone ask for it. 

Chris closes his eyes. He’s getting too worked up over this, and he needs to calm down.

“Get it together,” he whispers to himself. He tries to take his mind off of the case, off of how Andy had kept hugging himself like he hadn’t had someone else do it in years, and what he finally settles on picturing is how Andy’s shoulders had slumped and his head had ducked at dinner after Chris told him he was impressed that he had the guts to go up to the Lincoln with a crowbar. He’d said _that was brave_ rather than the _you did so good, sweetheart_ that’d been itching on the tip of his tongue, but Andy had taken the toned down praise with a shy smile and flush even while he tried to play it off nonchalantly. 

Chris can’t help but wonder how Andy would react the first time Chris calls him a good boy if a simple compliment gets him that bashful. 

It’s a much better image to fall asleep to, even if it’s only a _what if._

—

Chris has always been a semi-early riser, and he has work to do today. He wakes up at 7am without even needing his alarm to go off, stretching and yawning in the comfort of Andy’s bed for a moment before getting up. The first thing he does is go to the window and check outside to see if anyone is there. 

Nothing. 

He tries to keep quiet when he dresses, not sure if Andy is gonna be awake downstairs or not. He had admitted his sleep schedule has been crazy for the last few months, looking painfully exhausted just speaking about it even if he was trying to play it off. Chris thinks back to the dark circles under the man’s eyes and sighs, finishing zipping up his jeans so he can head out and start chasing down those leads, maybe grab something in town to eat first. 

He nearly trips over a box on his way out the door, but gives some extra care to stepping as lightly as possible down the stairs, and when he makes it to the living room he sees that his efforts have been in vain. Andy is sitting up on his make-shift couch bed, head held in his hands.

He sighs, rueful to see that Andy isn’t asleep. The noise startles the other man enough to make him jump and whip his head around, posture tense.

Chris holds his hands up and gives him a regretful smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Was just about to head out for the day.” Andy’s shoulders relax slightly. He lifts a hand to rub at his eyes, bicep visibly flexing under his worn t-shirt. Chris stares at it for a moment before flicking his eyes back to the door and gripping his car keys in his palm. “I can touch base with you tonight, tell you what I find?”

Andy nods distractedly. Chris frowns. It’s like he’s lost in his own head, eyes adrift, and Chris feels the sudden need to pull him out of it. He steps forward towards the couch where Andy is still turned to face him before he can convince himself to back down. Andy doesn’t even seem to track his movements, prompting Chris to take the initiative to call his name and lay a hand on his shoulder in order to jerk him back to reality. He looks up at Chris with wide eyes, lips parted. “Sorry, what?”

Chris tries not to focus on the feeling of touching Andy or the way his skin is warm even through the fabric of his shirt. He _especially_ tries not to focus on the way Andy licks his lips and looks at him with an expression so earnest that it’s damn near obscene.

“I said I can touch base with you tonight and tell you what I find,” he repeats. “But I was also about to suggest I give you my personal cell so you can call me if anything suspicious happens. Or if you need me.”

He almost doesn’t add that last bit on, but he figures that letting Andy know he has someone here is maybe a...step in the right direction of where Chris wants to take him. Where Andy definitely wants to go, even if he won’t admit it. In typical Andy fashion (or at least based off of what Chris has observed from him so far) Andy puffs up a little bit at the implication that he might _need_ help instead of just giving it, tossing Chris a sarcastic smile and drawing up his shoulders, which makes Chris realize his hand is still on him. He draws it back and Andy’s shoulders oddly tighten even more at the loss of touch. Chris almost frowns. 

“Thank you, Chris,” Andy says. “But I can get by on my own.” His voice is almost heartbreakingly determined.

Chris huffs, rubbing the hand that had been on Andy’s shoulder over his head. This guy. So _fucking_ stubborn. “The thing is,” he responds slowly. “You don’t have to.” Andy practically freezes at the careful words and Chris reluctantly decides to retreat instead of pushing anymore right now no matter how much he meant them. He really does need to be on his way regardless, so pulls one of his personal cards out of his wallet and holds it out. “Here. Just in case.”

Andy accepts it and wordlessly fidgets with it a bit before clearing his throat and answering with a quiet voice. “You should take my key for the day if you’re coming back tonight. I was going to keep the doors locked and it’s not like I’ll be needing it.” The almost imperceptible falter on the word _if,_ the implication that Andy thinks Chris might not come back makes Chris’s eyebrows furrow. 

“Yeah, of course.” _Of course I’m coming back_ , he wants to say.

Andy nods tiredly and gestures with a large hand towards the front door. “‘S hanging on the hook by the door. I’ll lock up behind after once you leave.”

Chris nods and starts to zip up his jacket. “Sounds good.” 

Andy pushes himself up to follow Chris towards the door, and when Chris turns to say goodbye before he opens it to leave, he notices an almost melancholy look on the other man’s face. It’s all he can do to make himself not say anything about it.

What he settles for instead is “Remember to call me if you need anything. Or text, I’ll answer as quickly as I can either way.”

Andy gives him a tight smile and crosses his arms. “I’ll keep that in mind.” The forced confidence in his tone tells Chris that he shouldn’t count on that, but there’s nothing he can do about that right now when he has legitimate work to do. 

Feeling like being a bit of a jerk in return, he claps Andy on the shoulder and says “I’ll see you tonight, Andy, be good” before grabbing the house key off of its hook and making his way out the door. 

Andy pulls it shut immediately behind him, but not before Chris manages to catch the blush that blooms over his face. Chris is still grinning about it when he gets into his car. 

—

As expected, Andy doesn’t call or text all day. 

The leads Chis has been chasing down haven’t been too fruitful, but it wasn’t a bust altogether. He has a name and address now for Billy’s ex-cellmate out on parole that he’s hoping to make good on tomorrow, see if the guy has anything to say about who Billy hung around inside or if he ever mentioned Andy. He’s pretty hopeful about it, especially since the cellmate in questions seems to be on the straight and narrow after getting out. 

It’s about seven when he returns to Andy’s neighborhood. They’re late enough into summer for it to be light out still, which makes Chris’s sweep of the street that much easier. He glances around and decides just to be extra thorough, circles the block to check that as well.

Nothing. Again. 

Which is good, he reminds himself. Yes, it’s frustrating, but it also means that Andy isn’t in danger. 

That little reassurance to himself is what makes it so surprising when he walks into the house and finds Andy on the couch death-gripping a crowbar. _The_ crowbar, if Chris is to assume it’s the same one he had talked about yesterday. 

He makes it three steps inside before he sees him. The lights are all off again, but Chris can still make out the shape of him sitting up ram-rod straight facing the door with a hard expression on his face, tensed like he’s bracing for a fight. A bad ome, based off of how hard he’s gripping his weapon. 

Chris blinks and tries not to hate himself for the way his fingers are itching to reach for his sidearm out of habit. “It’s Chris,” he says instead, voice careful. 

Andy’s relief is immediate. He drops the crowbar with a muted thump onto the carpet. “Oh, god, I’m sorry,” he curses. “I thought-“

Chris flips on the lights to get a better look at him. He’s sitting in the same spot where Chris left him this morning, pillow pressed to his side and little nest of blankets bunched underneath him. He _has_ changed clothes, though, at least to a different t-shirt and thick cotton sweats that he’s bunching his hands into right now. Chris raises his eyebrows. “You thought what?”

Andy closes his eyes and rubs a hand over them before speaking. “Lincoln showed up today. Around three. Left after two hours maybe, but I wasn’t sure if it was going to be back...so I was trying to be...prepared.”

Chris has to close his eyes as well for a moment before he says something over the line. “ _Andy,_ ” he grits out eventually. “I gave you my number for a reason. I told you to use it if you needed anything!”

“I was fine!” Andy defends with a scowl, voice raising after Chris’s does. 

“Clearly not if you had to go find a weapon just to feel safe sitting in your own home!”

Andy doesn’t respond to that verbally, only glares up at Chris with a near furious expression. Chris glares back, and Andy breaks off the gaze with a scoff, eyes moving to settle on the moving boxes lining the room. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Some fucking home I got.”

The defeat in Andy’s words drains out a majority of Chris’s anger, but he still has to fight the frustration out of his tone when he speaks. “You hired me to help you with this, Andy. How can I help when you won’t let me? Why didn’t you call?”

“I didn’t think it was worth bothering you with,” Andy admits. He waves a hand towards the crowbar on the floor as if that's an answer Chris is supposed to accept. “I had it handled.”

“You’re not supposed to handle it,” Chris points out. “ _I am_.”

The words hang in the air between them, firm and final. Andy still isn’t looking at him.

Chris sighs and is about to apologize for maybe coming across as rude or too much, but Andy beats him to the punch by raising his head and speaking. “I’m sorry, Chris.” And then, like every fantasy Chris had played out in his head last night while trying to sleep, Andy looks up at him with a sweetly apologetic expression that has Chris’s dick twitching where it’s nestled in his briefs. His lips are red from where he’s had them pursed, and he licks them before going on. “It won’t happen again.”

“Yeah, you make sure it doesn’t,” Chris says lowly. It’s all he can do not to say anything else, not when Andy is staring at him like that, doe eyed and like he’d do anything to make it up to him. 

They look at each other for a long moment, Andy’s hands fidgeting the longer Chris stares. He finally decides to show some mercy on him after a bit, sighing and starting to take his jacket off. 

“You got anything to eat around here? I’m starving.”

—

As it turns out, Andy does _not_ in fact have anything to eat around. Unless beer and popcorn count, which Chris adamantly protests when Andy offhandedly admits to having that as dinner more than a few times. They end up ordering out again from an Italian place in town, and Chris can’t help but shake his head thinking about how Andy needs to start taking care of himself. Or maybe have someone start doing it for him, for once, if this is the job he’s managing.

They end up sitting at the table to eat their respective orders. They’ve yet to discuss the case yet tonight since the mini-yelling match they had earlier, too busy talking about normal stuff for once. Not that Chris is eager to break the lighthearted mood they’ve slipped into. It’s nice to see Andy a little relaxed. 

He’s currently in the middle of about how he and his college roomate used to steal tupperwares full of food from their dining hall once a week and call it “grocery shopping” since they were broke college kids, trying to prove a point to Chris about how popcorn and beer for a meal isn’t the worst he’s eaten. All it’s doing is making Chris laugh and roll his eyes over his eggplant parmigiana, but he lets the other man have it anyways just to keep him smiling and talking with his hands. 

“We would fill water bottles with milk and keep them in the mini-fridge so we could eat cereal in our room. It always tasted funny, and I have no idea why, but it was better than getting up every day at 6am and dragging our asses to the dining hall for breakfast before class,” he says, snorting while taking a sip of his beer. 

“Living the high life,” Chris says drily. “How far you’ve come. From a former dining hall vagrant to a bigshot lawyer.”

Andy laughs. “Yeah, me and Lance got up to all kinds of shit back then.” His voice is wistful at the mention of this other guy’s name- the first name he’s mentioned that isn’t Laurie or his father- and Chris feels oddly jealous. 

“You guys still keep in touch?” he asks casually. “Sounds like you were close.”

Andy shakes his head immediately. “Ah, no. We weren’t really close friendship wise, just thrown together by housing and doing the best with it. Did a lot of stuff together but I kind of lost contact with him once Laurie and I…” he trails off, cheeks turning red when he inevitably realizes what he just explained sounds like a friend with benefits. Might have been one, based off of the panic in his eyes.

Chris is still a little jealous of this Lance guy, but he still can find Andy’s fumbling a little cute. Not to mention the picture of him, young and inexperienced fucking around with his roomate, probably still too embarrassed back then to really ask for what he wanted. Chris absentmindedly wonders if Andy’s ever been fucked, but he decides that’s a question for later.

“I see,” he drawls. “Don’t worry, I get how it is.” Andy doesn’t question exactly what Chris gets, but his narrowing eyes tell Chris he definitely picks up on the implication. “Maybe you guys could get back in touch now.”

Andy averts his eyes and swallows a bite of his calzone, shaking his head again. “It’s been so long it’d be too out of the blue. Besides, like I said, we weren’t close.”

“Pity.” He doesn’t mean that, but no one has to know. 

The lull in conversation provides Andy with the opportunity to finally ask about the elephant in the room. “So...did you find anything today?” he asks, deep voice hesitantly hopeful.

Chris sighs, but nods, knowing that this conversation has to be had. Hell, it’s the whole reason he’s here. “First few leads were a bust,” he starts off, holding up a hand to cut off the way Andy lets out a frustrated noise and practically deflates at the news. “But I did get some headway on someone I could talk to. Your father’s former cellmate.”

“That’s good.” Andy perks up, leaning his elbows on the table. “Sounds promising.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna go pay him a visit tomorrow. You know where Emory Hollow is? Apple Maps is being shit, as usual.”

Andy nods, pushing away his plate and finishing off his beer. “Yeah, I do, actually. It’s a little bit out of the way but I have a former client who used to live out there.” 

“Think you could give me some directions?” Chris finishes off his beer as well. Listen, he knows he said no drinking on the job yesterday but it’s one beer, and as circumstances are, he thinks Andy is a bit of a special client. A special person, even. 

“I’ll do you one better and drive you there myself if you want?” Andy offers, so earnestly that Chris can feel himself immediately soften. It’s clear that being helpful and protective is Andy’s love language- not that Chris thinks that’s anything close yet to the subtle sexual tension that’s going on between them- but Chris is flattered that Andy is subjecting him to it regardless. 

“Don’t feel obligated, but that’d be real good of you. I can drive, though, I just need to know where I’m going.” The word choice is deliberate on Chris’s end. So what if he’s trying to push a little more? Andy’s shy smile and quick little nod is evidence enough that the praise is welcome, needed even. He’s soaking it up like a plant that needs watering. 

Case and point, he looks incredibly pleased with himself. “Be nice to get out of the house instead of packing it up anyways,” he says with a rueful smile. “Laurie wasn’t too sentimental about most of the stuff here besides her own, and she took all that, but I still have a lot of work to do.”

Chris makes a sympathetic noise. They still haven’t really discussed his wife- ex-wife- past the few things Andy mentioned about her, but he looks like he has something to say on the tip of his tongue, so Chris doesn’t respond, giving the other man an encouraging look instead. 

He takes it, taking in a deep breath before going on. “If- you know, anything involving Laurie in the case comes up, you might want to be careful bringing it up to her if you talk,” he begins, already looking uneasy. “Like I said, she was angry that I never told her about him. She’s not a cruel person really, but I definitely did a number on her with this.” He looks guilty, and Chris frowns. 

Before he can stop himself, he shakes his head and reaches a hand forward to touch Andy’s shoulder the same way he had this morning, grip firm. His skin is just as warm as it was before. “Hey,” he says sternly. “It’s not your fault. You can’t control who your family is, and you’re allowed to have a hard time talking about shit. Especially shit like this, it’s understandable that you don’t like telling people. But who your father is, that’s not a reflection of you, you know? You had no way of knowing he would pull something like this.”

Andy looks a bit overwhelmed at the touch and reassurance, forcing a smile on his face and shaking his head. “Thank you, really, but...I should have told her sooner,” he says quietly, staring down at the table. “Before it affected her, she had a right to know.”

“And you have a right to feel uncomfortable talking about him,” Chris points out. “You’re human. We make mistakes.”

Andy finally looks back up at him, the way the kitchen lights hit his face highlighting the bags under his eyes. “I was just trying to protect her,” he says quietly, and Chris’s heart aches for him.

“I know, Andy,” is all he can offer before Andy is standing up quickly, dislodging Chris’s hand and putting his dishes by the sink, turning away so Chris can’t see his face. 

His voice is forcibly light when he speaks, rinsing his plate off. “It’s fine. God, I hired you to be my PI, not my therapist. Sorry.”

Chris can tell he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, so he leaves it and jokes back instead. “How do you know I don’t have a psych degree?”

Andy snorts and turns back to him, eyes noticeably red rimmed. “Right. I meant to ask earlier- you sleep okay last night? I know the bedroom can get kind of cold, Laurie liked to keep it that way and I haven’t got around to changing it yet since it wasn’t being used and all.”

Chris doesn’t even blink at the subject change, standing to rinse his plate off as well. “It was fine. Almost tripped over a box when I got up this morning though, nearly broke my neck.”

Andy winced and rubs a sheepish hand on the back of his neck. “Sorry about that, I forgot those were in there. I can go move them to the hall if you need, I wouldn’t want you to end up in the hospital before you solve my case,” he jokes. 

Chris chuckles and waves him off. “Nah, I got it. I was about to head to bed anyways. You should, too,” he adds. “I was planning to leave around nine tomorrow, get some breakfast before we hit the road maybe?” It’s just an innocent suggestion, but the way Andy looks at him open-mouthed for a second before nodding hesitantly makes it obvious that it had come across as...more. And it was welcomed. 

“That sounds good,” Andy says faintly. “I’ll tuck in after I do the dishes.”

Chris tries not to smirk but gives in to the urge eventually, patting Andy on the back before moving to exit the kitchen. “I’m gonna stick my head out and check outside before I head up. Night, Andy. Try to actually get some sleep, okay?”

Andy gives him another hesitant nod and. Chris bids him goodnight a second time before stepping out into the living room and peeking out the door to check the length of the street for any cars. 

Nothing. Yet again. 

At least they can sleep a little easier tonight. The car probably won’t come back twice in the same day, but Chris doesn’t hesitate to twist the lock and deadbolt on the door shut before turning away and heading up the stairs to the bedroom. 

He changes quickly into the same shirt he had slept in last night with a different pair of briefs, tossing his jacket on the chair in the corner and folding up his jeans to wear again tomorrow. Grabbing his toiletries from his back, he moves to head to the bathroom, only to curse Jesus and every deity he knows when he rams his bare foot into one of the boxes at the end of the bed. 

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” he hisses, dropping his toiletries on the mattress and bending to grab at his now aching foot. It’s only now that he remembers his prior promise to Andy about moving the boxes into the hall.

With that in mind, he huffs and shoves angrily at the offending box with his non-injured foot, irritated enough to not want to pick it up. The irritation vanishes almost immediately when the box is knocked onto its side after the too-hard kick, spilling open and revealing the contents inside.

Chris does a double take, has to blink hard and make sure he isn’t seeing things before he finally gets a grasp on what he’s looking at. Even then, he isn’t sure he believes it, isn’t sure this isn’t some extended dream that he’s having. He can’t be seeing what he thinks he’s seeing, because it sounds like something that would happen in a bad porno or one of his fantasies and not _to_ him. There’s no way. 

Are those...sex toys?

He stares down at what’s in front of him. From where he’s standing he can see what appears to be a sleek black vibrator rolled out onto the carpet. Next to it, a cock ring- and (Chris inhales sharply) sticking out from the box, the tip of a handle that he’s almost positive belongs to a plug. An anal plug. 

Distantly he thinks back to Andy’s words from earlier. _Laurie wasn’t too sentimental about most of the stuff here besides her own, and she took all that._

That means that this collection of toys...is Andy’s. That’s Andy’s vibrator, Andy’s cock ring, Andy’s plug, and...there’s definitely more in that box based off of how heavy it was (his foot is still aching, but he has more important things to focus on). He still feels like he’s in shock when he sinks down to his knees, eyes still fixed on the box in front of him. 

Part of him feels perverse for wanting to look- wanting to _touch_ these items that Andy has most definitely used on himself, but, he reasons with himself, how else is he supposed to get them back in the box? He can’t just leave them here on the floor. If he just happens to get a glance at what else is inside...he can’t help it. He’s not snooping. Not on purpose.

He’s still convincing himself of that when he picks up the vibrator with a slow hand, noting the multitude of levels, the heft of it against his palm. It’s nothing too big. But it’s been _inside_ Andy, and that’s something he’s still comprehending. He doesn’t know why this is such a big shock to him- well, really, he does. He’d assumed (obviously incorrectly) that Andy was uncomfortable with some of his wants, that the only thing to be inside him if anything at all would be his fingers, maybe his mentioned roomate’s cock once or twice before Andy turned tail and had to get married to a woman he doesn’t even seem to have have loved. But here he is staring down at proof of the exact opposite. 

Vibrator still in one hand, he reaches with the other to grasp the flap of the opened box and pull it back up. In the process, the plug tumbles to the floor as well and Chris has to take a moment to close his eyes before he can even think about handling _that_. 

The faint clatter of dishes knocking against each other jerks him out of it, helpfully reminding him that the man who uses these items is downstairs, and Chris needs to get a move on before he combusts just thinking about the possibilities of going down there right now, toys in hand, and asking him to show Chris what exactly he’s been doing with them all this time. It’s tempting, but it isn’t plausible. Not right now at least. So he takes in a deep breath, tries to tamp down the images in his mind of Andy fucking himself and being too embarrassed to tell his wife- tell _anyone-_ and finally looks down to replace the vibrator back in its box alongside whatever else is already in there. 

_Whatever else_ turns out to be three things: a bottle of lube (almost half empty, Chris notes), a small bottle of toy cleaner, and a dildo that Chris is smug to note is a bit smaller than his own cock. The box is lined at the bottom with what looks to be a soft cotton t-shirt, similar to the ones Chris has seen Andy in since he got here, and Chris can’t help but let out a hard exhale at the concrete confirmation that this box is Andy’s. _Christ_. He replaces the vibrator and the plug quickly, but when he gets around to the cock ring, he lingers. 

As much as the idea of Andy wearing the plug appeals to him- where and _when_ he would wear it (did he ever wear it around the house? Around his _wife_ without her knowing he was stuffed full?) the cock ring has Chris’s mind spinning even more with images that make his dick tent in his briefs. He pictures Andy laying himself on the bed, fucking himself full at every rare opportunity and having to put on the cock ring so he wouldn’t come too quickly, wanting to draw out the pleasure to tide himself over until the next occasion. Maybe using it after fingering himself in the shower so he wouldn’t get hard around his wife at the memory of being stretched open and aching for it.

Or better yet, a fantasy stirred up by the most filthy, private parts of Chris’s brain- Andy using the ring to edge himself while on his vibrator, crying out pretty for his orgasm and pretending like his daddy was telling him to be a good boy and not come until he said so. And Andy wouldn’t, wouldn’t even dream of it, because that’s what he is. A good boy, desperate to please and be praised for doing things right. For listening to his daddy. 

For listening to _Chris._

Listen, Chris isn’t unaware of what he looks like or what he _likes_. He knows how many women and men look at him- leather jacket, beard, muscles, commanding attitude and all- and think they know what kind of man he is. What they _want_ from him and what he’s willing to _give._ Telling people to call him daddy, roughing them up and making them listen, making them be good while he fucks them until they’re begging for it. He’s not one to support stereotypes, but Chris knows how most people see him. Looks can most definitely be deceiving (because if they weren’t, Andy’d be just as much of a daddy as him, wouldn’t he?), but in this case they’re right. That is a great majority of what Chris likes and wants. 

Not all of it, though. What he wants right now is all of that with Andy. It’s what he’s wanted all along, but finding all those toys- that damned _cock ring_ has brought it all to the front of his mind from where he had been trying to keep it tamed before. And, look, Chris knows that the whole daddy thing isn't for everyone. But there’s something in him that tells him Andy wants and needs it, just like there was that gut feeling saying Andy needs to be praised. He had been right about that. Anyone who looks at Andy as having the option of being vulnerable can see that. 

It’s not hard for Chris to think he’s probably right about this as well, not with how Andy had spent what appears to be his entire life fending for himself and taking care of everyone else. It’s high time he had someone return the favor, and as Chris finally picks himself up off the floor and gets to legitimately moving the boxes, he swears to himself that he’s going to be the one to do it if Andy continues to let him edge his way closer into what’s quickly become personal territory.

It’s a lot harder to fall asleep that night. 

__

The next morning when he passes the boxes in the hall on his way downstairs, he has to force himself to abstain from rechecking what’s inside. It still doesn’t feel real, but one thought back to last night and the hard on he had to very pointedly ignore to get to sleep is enough to remind him that it _is._ He found Andy Barber’s secret collection of sex toys. That happened. His bruised foot is enough solid proof, anyways.

It’s hard to believe, but it’s even harder not to chub up in his pants the moment he walks into the living room and lays eyes on Andy, still fast asleep on the couch cuddling up to a pillow. The only way he manages not to is due to the overwhelming gladness he feels that Andy had finally been able to sleep through the night. Then, he thinks back to the way Andy had looked at him last night after Chris told him to go to bed and get some sleep, realizes this is very likely Andy’s way of obeying him, and his dick is right back to wanting to perk up again. 

Rolling his eyes and firmly reminding himself that he has work to do right now, he reaches over and gently grabs at Andy’s shoulder to try and rouse him awake. He’s regretful that he has to wake him, but they really do need to be going. Andy huffs in his sleep at the touch and rolls over onto his back to escape it, but doesn’t wake up.

Chris sighs fondly and takes a self indulgent moment to look at Andy’s sleep lax features, how indecently long his eyelashes are, but the next time he tries to wake him he does it with a light tap to his well muscled chest and rougher shake. “Andy,” he murmurs. Then, louder, “Andy!”

The second call of his name does the trick. Andy jerks awake with a sleepy noise, blinking up and squinting at Chris with still hazy eyes. “S’mornin’?” he asks, voice low and rumbling. 

Chris feels his features go soft but doesn’t bother to fight it, nodding and (sadly) removing his hands from Andy’s chest and shoulder. “Yeah, looks like you finally got some sleep. I was gonna leave in about twenty minutes, is that enough time for you to get ready?”

Andy yawns loudly and stretches, biceps flexing. “Should be,” he murmurs, sitting up. “God damn, it feels nice to have slept through the night.” 

Chris snorts and looks at his watch that reads 8:40. “All night and then some. Any reason for the sudden change?” he asks, raising his eyebrows knowingly and looking back up to meet Andy’s eyes. 

Andy’s sleep fuzzy brain seems to need a moment to process the question, but once it’s through he freezes and ducks his head. “No clue,” he denies unconvincingly. “But I’m glad for it.” That second part is said honestly enough for Chris to stop teasing, stepping back and letting Andy move to go upstairs and dress.

“Good,” he says, meaning it. “Remember, twenty minutes, I don’t want to have to skip breakfast. _Some_ of us like to eat actual meals that don’t include beer.” 

Andy throws him a slightly miffed look over his shoulder as he goes upstairs to get ready, but any real effect of it is thrown off by the fact his hair is spiked up from being pressed against his pillow. “You can’t leave without me either way,” he calls down, voice smug. “I’m the only one who knows how to get there.” He sounds so pleased with himself and it’s so nice to see him comfortable enough to joke around like this that Chris almost can’t bear to snark back. Almost. 

“Yeah, my little helper aren’t you? Should put you on the payroll,” he responds. Andy is anything _but_ little with those wide shoulders and toned arms. The only thing little about him really is his unbelievably slim waist and hips, but that doesn’t stop Chris from smirking at the way Andy stops in his tracks at the top of the stairs and turns to give him a forcibly unimpressed look. Even then, his cheeks are red, and Chris almost laughs, but they really do need to be going so he just rolls his eyes and points Andy up the stairs. “Go, shower, get ready. Twenty minutes,” he orders, and this time, it’s definitely on purpose.

The other man doesn’t protest. In fact, Andy’s eyes do that thing of his where they widen and drop before he turns back around wordlessly and starts trudging down the hall to his former bedroom with renewed purpose. Purpose given by Chris, Chris thinks smugly, grinning widely to himself now that he’s alone and moving to recline comfortably on the couch while he waits for the other man to follow through. He hears the water crank on a moment later and the muffled thud of Andy’s feet no doubt stepping into the shower. 

Something about the thought of Andy in the shower following through on Chris's- mild but present- orders makes satisfaction curl up pleasantly in his gut. Distantly, he wonders if Andy had gotten hard at the firm words or maybe the way Chris had said _good_ after hearing he had finally slept through the night. Chasing that thought, he wonders if Andy is up there now handling it with Chris right down here. Maybe a wet hand wrapped around his cock, jerking himself off shorter and quicker than he normally does, wanting to come so he won’t be late and disobey what his daddy told him to do. Or even better- stuffed full with a couple of his fingers, desperately trying to fuck himself down on them and come as a _reward_ from being good last night and this morning. Fingering himself open and doing his best to muffle his noises with his hand, just like he’d probably done when his wife was around, but this time, it isn’t her around. It’s Chris.

Chris bets Andy is insanely responsive, especially back _there_ where he isn’t quite as used to touching, let alone being touched. As sad as the thought is, he doesn’t seem to be used to being touched in general based on his almost touch-starved reactions the few times Chris has laid gentle hands on him. If he’s that reactive to simple, innocent touches, Chris can’t even imagine the noises he’d make if Chris got around to finally touching that beautiful body, showing his ass and undoubtedly pretty cock the love they deserve. The love and reverence he should be used to receiving. 

Chris would get him used to it. He _will_ get him used to it as soon as the opportunity is right and he can finally ask Andy if he wants Chris to be his daddy. If he wants to be Chris’s sweetheart, his good boy. Maybe even his boyfriend. At the very least, he wants to kiss him. Preferably more than once and in more than one place.

He has to firmly cut himself off from thinking down that train of thought when he starts anticipating it a little too much, half of him wanting nothing more than to walk upstairs right now and join Andy in the shower, slide in and replace his fingers (wherever they might be) with his own, press up against that well muscled back and whisper in his ear about how good he’s been. How much of a sweetheart he is for his daddy, but he doesn’t have to be so strong anymore, doesn’t have to shoulder everything on his own now. It’s an appealing idea- a temptation Chris wishes he could give into, but he can’t right now, and he has better self control than this.

Usually. Andy Barber is proving to be a temptation that Chris seems to have a weakness for, but Chris isn’t a weak man, nor is he the type to slack at his job. So he pulls himself away from his little daydream and forces his mind back to business, pulling his phone out so he can start rechecking the information he has down about Billy’s ex-cellmate, Daniel Colette. 

He’s still mulling the information over nearly ten minutes later when Andy makes an appearance, heading down the stairs to come stand by the couch like he’s waiting for Chris to tell him what to do next. Chris glances up from his phone, appreciatively taking in the black denim jacket, jeans, and boots Andy’s switched out his normal tee and sweats for. The jeans do _so_ much more for his ass, if Chris is being perfectly honest. Andy seems to sense the approval now that Chris isn’t actively trying to hide it from him, grinning a little bit and tucking his hands in his jacket pockets. 

“I’m ready whenever you are,” he says, almost cheerfully. It’s cute, Chris thinks. A welcome change from how morose he usually is, not that blames him for any of it. 

“With five minutes to spare, even,” he drawls. “Just let me check outside and we’ll be on our way.” Andy looks a little subdued at that, but Chris doesn’t feel like rehashing yesterday’s argument about _who_ is supposed to handle things right now, so he ignores it and pushes himself off the couch towards the door. Sticking his head out, he looks up and down the road and only finds a few neighbors out mowing their lawns- it is Saturday in a suburb, after all. Probably not the best conditions to be stalking someone’s house in. He pulls jis head back in and gives Andy a thumbs up. “We’re all good.”

“Okay.”

He decides to be a gentleman and hold the door open for Andy, barely resisting the urge to usher him out with a hand on his lower back. Just barely. Andy gives him an odd look at the gesture, but Chris rolls his eyes and holds up the key Andy had given him yesterday, dangling it teasingly from a finger. “Gotta lock up, Andy. C’mon, what were you gonna do, just leave your house unlocked before God and everyone?”

Andy snorts and gestures to the neighborhood around them, picturesque and almost overwhelmingly suburban. Like something out of a movie set, rather than upper middle class Boston. “It’s what everyone else does,” he says drily. “I never did it til I moved here, but Laurie acted like I was insulting the property value every time I tried to lock the door during the day. So I guess it’s just a habit not to.”

Chris raises his eyebrows and sticks the key in the lock, twisting it until it’s shut. “Well, I don’t know much about property value, but I’m pretty sure locking the door when you’re gone won’t damage it any. Gotta do what you need to keep yourself safe, y’know? ‘S what you got me here for, anyways, isn’t it?” He doesn’t wait for Andy to answer, just takes in the almost shocked expression on his face and pushes past him to start heading to the car. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road. You coming?”

Andy’s responding “yeah, Chris” is so faint, Chris almost misses it. 

__

The car ride to Daniel Colette’s house is about forty-five minutes away, at least by Andy’s direction. The first bit of it is spent in casual silence, Andy sitting up straight and occasionally spouting off what turns Chris should take, but otherwise staring ahead out the windshield with a thoughtful look on his face. Chris is pretty sure he knows what the other man is thinking about. 

Eventually, though, with some gentle prodding from Chris, Andy snaps out of it and notes the stack of CDs Chris has jammed by the radio. “You still use _CD_?” he asks incredulously. “Old man, aren’t you?” He’s joking, eyes approving as he flips over the Aerosmith _Get A Grip_ album he’s picked up from the pile. 

“Older than _you_ ,” Chris retorts with a smile, eyes flicking briefly from the road to take in Andy’s soft flush. “Only by a few years, anyways. Doesn’t make me ancient. Not all of us drive an Audi with a fancy sound system. You approve of my music taste, at least?”

Andy hums and flips through the rest of the stack, nodding appreciatively at a few titles along the way. “We like a lot of the same stuff,” he says after a bit. “You like nineties rap more than me, though. I’m more of a rock guy, myself.” His fingers are lingering on an album, but he doesn't say anything, so Chris says it for him. 

“You can put one in if you want,” he offers, reaching over and punching the radio on. “I wouldn’t mind some music on.” 

Andy bites his lower lip in that endearingly shy way he always does. “You trust me to choose?” he jokes eventually, even then picking out the album he wants and setting the rest back down. 

Chris laughs and takes a hand off the wheel to reach over and pat Andy on the thigh, intentionally teasing. It works, based on the way Andy softly smiles back. “I don’t like it, I'll just tell you to pick something else. But I trust you to do good.”

Andy reacts the same way he always does when Chris subtly injects the word _good_ into their conversations about him, head ducking, pleased with himself. Chris loves it. “Alright,” he says shyly, cracking open the CD case and moving to pop it into the slot.

Chris smiles widely as soon as he hears the opening instrumental to Lenny Kravitz’s _Always On the Run._ “Good choice, Andy,” he says. Andy grins happily and tosses the empty case to the side, leaning his head back on his seat, not saying anything, but his preening telling Chris everything he needs to know. 

The rest of the car ride passes along fairly quickly after that, music playing in the background while Andy tosses out directions between lighthearted conversation. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last forever. Before they know it, they’ve reached Daniel Colette’s house and Andy is staring ahead through the windshield with a look on his face like he’d forgotten what they came here to do in the first place until this very moment. He looks uncomfortable, and Chris reaches over to squeeze his shoulder in an attempt to placate him. 

“Hey,” he says gently. “You can wait in the car while I go talk to him. You didn’t sign up to help do this part of the job for me. I got it.” Andy’s shoulders relax the slightest amount under the touch, but his face is still hard when he shakes his head and speaks, the determined front that Chris had seen when he first met him being put back in place. 

“I’m here,” he says flatly. “I might as well go with you.” His voice is resigned with a type of finality that says there’s no arguing with him, so Chris doesn’t. He just squeezes his shoulder again and gives him a firm look. 

“If you feel like you need to leave or like it’s too much, you get out, got it? I gotta take this seriously. This is work for me. No distractions,” he tells him lowly, waiting until Andy looks at him with a clenched jaw and nods to let him go and start climbing out of the car. It’s unfortunate how quick he is to put those walls back up right after he’d been letting himself get a little more relaxed, but Chris...as much as it pains him, he can’t afford to focus on it like he wants right now. He’ll just have to work on getting him soft again later.

God, he can’t wait for this case to wind down. 

Andy’s posture is stiff when Chris knocks on Colette’s door. He only tenses up even more when Colette answers, a tall, wan man with wary eyes and a grim expression. After introducing himself and intentionally only referring to Andy as his friend, Chris puts his game face on and gets down to it, trying his best to not wince at the shuttered expression on Andy’s face when they enter the house and follow Colette to his living room to talk. Colette sits in an armchair, and gestures for them to sit on the couch.

Andy slouches in the corner of it the moment he touches down, and although he’s not supposed to be focused on him like this right now, Chris can’t help but move his thigh to press against Andy’s knee just to offer a little semblance of comfort. Andy relaxes a little bit at that, but then Chris is launching into the questions he has for Colette about Billy, and he’s retreating right back into himself. 

Chris has to give him at least some credit. He makes it without so much as a flinch through the first few rounds of questions. Thingd about how long Colette was Billy’s cellmate, what he was like, if he ever threatened him or anyone on their block- shit like that. Chris is proud of Andy, has just tossed him a reassuring look that they’re almost done- when the first of the last couple questions leads everything to go to shit. 

It starts off simple. “Did Billy ever mention his son to you, or any intentions of harm towards him?”

Colette frowns and looks confused. “Harm? No, the guy talked about his kid plenty, but never anything about hurting him.” He scratches his hand over his chin, looking thoughtful. “As far as I could tell, the guy just wanted to be a good father. Always wanted to reconnect, but his kid never gave him the chance.” The reaction is immediate- Chris doesn’t even have time to try and stop it.

_“Be a good father_?” Andy bursts out incredulously. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Colette and Chris look at him at the same time, Colette expression shocked and Chris’s sharp. Andy doesn’t even register Chris’s eyes on him, too far gone to his anger that he’s never been able to share. “He’s _murdered_ and _raped_ someone. He attacked his wife and child. You think he _deserves_ a goddamn chance for forgiveness just because he told you he felt a little sorry? You can take that opinion and shove-“

“ _Andy_ ,” Chris says warningly. “I need you to calm down.”

Andy’s head whips to glare at him, eyes wide with distress. “Calm down?” he hisses, betrayed. “Chris-“

Chris throws Colette a vaguely apologetic look before he stands and yanks Andy up by the arm to come with him. “Excuse us for a moment.” Andy’s face is furious, but he waits until they’re outside to fight back. 

He doesn’t hesitate as soon as the door shuts behind them. “God dammit, Chris, what was that for?” he snaps. “Did you _hear_ what he-“

“Yes, I did,” Chris interrupts, hands itching to grab at Andy’s shoulders, force him on his knees to calm him down. He doesn’t do that. Instead he gives Andy a look so hard that he blinks and steps back. “I didn’t like it either- and don’t you think for one second think I agreed, but you of all people should know you can’t argue with someone when you’re trying to get answers!”

Andy doesn’t seem to have a response to that. He’s reverted to crossing his arms too tight again, and even through the irritation Chris aches with the urge to tell him he’s good. Again, he doesn’t. It’s not the place for it right now. 

So, with Andy still glaring and pointedly looking anywhere but at Chris, he takes a deep breath and goes on. “You need to stand down _now_. That’s not a request. You either _listen_ to me, or you go sit in the car and wait for me to be done. Those are your options. Pick one.” He uses a voice firmer than he ever has on Andy, low and commanding. He was telling the truth, it isn’t a request he’s giving him. It’s an order. 

Andy picks up on it, if the hitch in his breath is anything to go off of, but he rights himself from the push a moment later, scowl in place. Chris’s sweet, feisty boy, never backing down from a fight because he doesn’t know how. Has never had a reason to when he’s the only one who protects himself.

He squares his shoulders and jerks his head away. “Fuck you,” he mutters hoarsely, and with that, he’s twisting away from Chris and leaving to yank the car door open, practically collapsing onto the seat. 

Chris closes his eyes. He hates that Andy is upset, but he also knows that he was right _._ Besides, it isn’t really him Andy is mad at- it’s his father, and the only thing Chris can do to fix that problem is solve the case. And to do that he needs to go inside and get back to his job. So, with a heavy sigh and apologetic look thrown towards Andy staring at him through the car window, that’s exactly what he does. 

Colette doesn’t look impressed when he gets back inside, but he doesn’t ask any questions, so Chris gets right back to it. “Billy have any friends on the inside that might be able to pull favors for him outside?”

“What kind of favors?” Colette asks bluntly.

Chris sucks in a breath and thinks back to Andy’s face the day he’d found him holding the crowbar. “Intimidating his son. Following him around, staking out his house…someone in a blue Lincoln.” He doesn’t mention the calls, but it doesn’t seem to matter, not with how Colette’s thin face has lit up with recognition. He leans forward hopefully, eyes intent. “You think of a name?”

“I know _exactly_ what name you’re looking for.”

___

When he gets back to the car half an hour later, Andy doesn’t even acknowledge him, just stares pointedly out the window and keeps his arms folded across his chest. Chris doesn’t press him.

Instead, all he says is, “He gave me a name. The guy he pointed me to drives a Lincoln and missed his last parole meeting, there’s a violation being filed and they’re looking for him as we speak. I’ll know more later tonight, but the man in question doesn’t exactly seem to be above snitching based off his record.” He looks to him for an answer, _anything_ , but Andy’s only response is a jerked nod. Chris sighs. “ _Andy-_ “

“Just drive,” Andy interrupts quietly. “Please.”

There’s no arguing right now, not when he’s asking with a voice like that. Chris’s heart sinks, but he nods and that’s that. They spend the rest of the drive in terse silence, Andy hugging himself tight every second of it and Chris helplessly wishing he didn’t have to focus on the road so he could help calm him down. 

Eventually they get home and he can finally turn to him, the engine switched off so that the only noise in the car is the sound of their breathing. He takes a good, long look at the other man before he speaks, heart aching at how tightly curled in on himself Andy is. 

“Andy,” Chris says quietly. “Can we talk about this?” He doesn’t look up. Chris tries again, pushing gently with a firmer voice. “Andy, look at me.”

He does, eyes darting up to meet Chris’s encouraging expression before he swallows and jerks his gaze away again. “Inside,” he responds hoarsely. Chris nods. Inside it is. They get out of the car, go silently up the steps, and Chris makes quick work of getting the door unlocked so they can both walk inside, Andy shrugging off his jacket as soon as he steps across the threshold. Chris follows suit. 

He gets as far as laying it over the back of the couch before Andy is turning to him with a painfully guarded expression and bombarding him with a loaded question. “ _Why_?”

Chris blinks and finishes setting his jacket down. “Gonna need you to be a bit more specific,” he says slowly, trying his best not to upset the man any further. His sweetheart. Or he can be, now that the case is winding down. 

Andy’s eyes are red rimmed, and he scrubs a hand angrily over them before going on. “Why do you keep _doing_ that, you’ve been doing it all this time but earlier- it’s driving me crazy!” He’s pacing around now, and Chris watches him do it, still confused.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says evenly. “But I’d appreciate it if you’d come over here and _tell me_ so we can get this settled.” He means for the words to be grounding, the order to bring Andy back down to earth from where he’s spiraling out of control, but by the way he whirls around and throws a hand towards him, it has the opposite effect.

“ _That_ ,” Andy cries out in frustration, walking over to where Chris is leaning against the couch so that he’s getting in his face, trying to gain control of the situation but still managing to obey Chris’s order as well. Chris doesn’t even know if Andy realizes that’s what he’s doing. But it _is_ , and noticing the ingrained obedience is what makes Andy’s next words come as such a surprise. “You just- the way you say things Chris, I just- Don’t tell me what to _fucking_ do!”

The silence that rings through the room after Andy’s outburst is almost smothering. Andy isn’t moving anymore, just staring at Chris with almost wild eyes, chest practically heaving. Chris isn’t moving either. In fact, he’s sitting completely still, eyes fixed on Andy feeling something akin to disbelief. He doesn’t speak for a long moment. The words are still sinking in, almost a laughable contradiction to everything Chris has observed from Andy. He can pretend all he wants, but Chris has seen the way Andy responds to praise and direction first hand, and even if Andy is ashamed to admit it, he knows that the other man wants nothing more than to submit.

Still, he isn’t sure what he’s going to say next, but when Andy lets out a scoff and tries to turn away, something in him snaps at the dismissal and he’s moving before he knows it. 

He grips Andy’s shoulder iron-tight and waits for him to look at him before he speaks. “I think you _want_ me to tell you what to do, sweetheart.” He takes a step closer until they’re practically nose to nose, Andy’s breath audibly hitching. “In fact, I don’t think that. I know it.”

Andy’s eyes are wide, darting down to Chris’s lips before jerking away like he’s been shocked Chris lifts his other hand so that he’s grabbing both his shoulders, and Andy tries to jerk away, but Chris holds him steady. Andy practically growls at the steady grip.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he spits out, but his voice, although insistent, also holds a wobbly quality that Chris can tell is the desire to submit. The mix of adrenaline and arousal coming from finally being found out, so close to having what he wants but trying to deny himself anyways. 

He’s like a goddamn martyr, Andy Barber is. 

Right now, Chris isn’t having that. Not when Andy so clearly needs this, not when he’s been deprived and depriving himself of it for so long. So he steps forward again and pushes Andy back, moving until he’s got his back pressed against the living room wall, caged in like Chris owns him. 

And really, maybe that’s where this is going. 

Andy swallows, but he doesn’t try to fight back this time. Chris smiles proudly at him and slides his hands up so that he’s cupping either side of his neck, holding him posessively in place with them. Andy’s jaw clenches. “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about,” Chris tells him softly. “And it’s okay to want it, Andy. I want it. I want to give it to you if you’ll let me.”

“Give me what?” Andy whispers, voice completely the opposite of the yelling he had been doing two minutes ago. Chris smiles again. His sweetheart is so goddamn easy for it.

“Give you what you need, sweet thing,” Chris promises. “Take care of you like you deserve. Tell you nice things and take control so you don’t have to worry about everything all the time.” He leans in even closer, breath ghosting over Andy’s lips. “You want that, don’t you, Andy?”

Andy shuts his eyes and attempts to duck his head, but Chris is so close to him that he can’t. “How would you know if I wanted that or not?” he tries to protest weakly, arms worming their way in between them so he can tuck them around himself. 

Chris’s eyes soften, as does his entire expression and demeanor. “Sweetheart,” he tells him gently. “It’s not hard for me to tell at all. I know you try to hide it, but from the moment I laid eyes on you I could tell what you wanted. I could tell what you _are_.” He squeezes his neck affectionately and leans their foreheads together. “You’re such a good boy, Andy, I’ve been waiting to tell you that since the first time you smiled at me.”

He’s expecting him to put up a bit more of a fight, maybe protest it a little, but that’s not what happens. The moment the words “good boy” leave Chris’s mouth, Andy is crumbling, looping his arms around Chris’s neck and kissing him desperately. Chris doesn’t hesitate to kiss him back, tongue licking into his mouth, hands moving to hold his face and keep him where he wants. 

Distantly while he’s kissing him, he thinks back to how he had wondered what Andy’s reaction to being called a good boy for the first time would be. Objectively, this is better than anything he had pictured, especially with the way Andy is sighing into his mouth right now. They have to break the kiss eventually to breathe, and when Andy pulls away he’s breathless and panting, pupils blown. Chris can feel where he’s getting hard in his jeans, and he figures, _why not take this all the way?_

With that thought in mind, he kisses Andy again, soft and chaste before he whispers low and filthy against his lips, _“You want me to be your daddy, sweet thing?”_

The fight Chris expected is back, Andy turning beet red and trying to scoff and shake his head, but Chris hums and fixes him with a piercing stare.

“You’re tellin’ me you grew up on your own...all these years fending for yourself, being in control and responsible for everyone else...and you never once wanted a big, strong man to come along and take care of you for once instead?” he asks him, voice so low it’s practically a purr. “You telling me you never wanted a daddy, Andy? That you didn’t dream about having someone to hold you down, make you beg for it before giving you exactly what you need...even when you were married to her?”

Andy jerks back at the mention of _her_ , and Chris might think saying that was a mistake if it weren’t for the breathless noise Andy lets out at that, embarrassed flush crawling up his face and leaving him doe-eyed. The reaction is so promising that Chris smirks and doesn’t hesitate to continue, thumbs stroking over Andy’s beard while he speaks. 

“You’re tellin’ me that sweet hole of yours didn’t ache for someone to touch it during all that time?” he whispers, and Andy tries to shake his head but he can’t with Chris’s hands on him. He whines at the restraint, and Chris is so affected by the noise that he groans in response and can’t help but kiss Andy again before he starts spewing filth again. “Or maybe...you were touching it, weren’t you sweetheart? Hiding it away, too embarrassed to tell your pretty little wife about it because then you’d have to tell her about how you wanted a daddy to fuck it as well?” He tries not to sound knowing, but really- he does know. 

Andy lets out a devastated moan and presses his hips back to the wall like Chris’s words have got him aching back there, just like he said. He still tries to protest despite his obvious reactions, face so red Chris is surprised it isn’t burning him to touch. “ _No,_ ” he grits out. 

Chris chuckles. Might as well not hold back now. “I found those toys of yours, sweetheart. I know _exactly_ what you use to stuff up that hungry little hole.” He lowers a hand and presses it against Andy’s ass for the first time, Andy exhaling hard at the touch and realization that Chris has seen his private stash of things he fucks himself with. “Now tell me the truth, Andy. You want me to be your daddy? You want me to fuck you with my cock like you tried to pretend with those toys?” He moves his hand to slip down the back of Andy’s jeans and press hard against his underwear until he’s putting pressure right against Andy’s hole like he knows his baby is desperate for. “You say the word and everything you’ve ever fantasized about is yours, sweet thing. I’ll give you anything you want.”

The noise Andy lets out at Chris pressing against his hole is nothing short of a needy, punched out moan, leaving him practically boneless against the wall. Chris thinks he might be on the ground if it weren’t for Chris pinning him up against it, but no matter how weak he is, he still manages to gasp out a breathless “ _yes_ ”.

Chris moans in return, presses against his hole again, but he wants to hear him say it before they go on. _Needs_ to hear him say it. “Yes what, sweetheart?”

Andy groans, hands clutching at Chris’s back. “Yes, I want you to be my daddy.” His voice is quiet, almost ashamed, but he says it anyways. Because Chris asked, and he’s so, _so_ good for him. 

Chris is gonna make him forget every bit of that shame. 

He groans, kisses him again hard. “Good fucking boy,” he whispers, removing his hand from his pants and sliding it up under his shirt to feel his back muscles ripple under his fingers as Andy presses forward against him to get some friction on his dick. Chris lets him rut for a moment but eventually grips his hip to still him, gentling his frustrated noise. “You gonna keep being my good boy?”

Andy lets out a heavy breath but nods, cheeks still flushed. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m just- I’ve never-“ He takes in a deep breath. “I’ve never done...this. With a man or...with anyone else.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Chris rumbles, pressing his fingertips against the dimples in Andy’s spine. “Am I your first daddy?” He knows he is, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want Andy to tell him. 

Andy sighs and gives him something even better. “You’re my first...man,” he says softly. “I’ve never- not besides the toys.” He looks away, embarrassed, but Chris can’t have that. He removes his hand from Andy’s hip to grip at his chin instead, forcing him to look at him. 

“I get to pop that sweet cherry of yours?” he rasps out, possessiveness curling up in his gut. “No one else has had you like this?”

Andy pinks even more at the realization Chris likes how inexperienced he is with this, but he looks slightly more reassured when he nods. “I tried to get a little,” he waves a hand. “-with her, but...she didn’t like it. She didn’t want it. Which was perfectly fine and understandable- I just-“

Even now he’s trying to put himself on the line for other people. Chris raises an eyebrow and tries not to hate her, not when he has this gorgeous man, wanton and willing in front of him, ready to call him daddy.

“Well, I like it and I want it very, very much, baby. I can tell you that for sure. You feel how much I want it?” He presses his hard-on against Andy’s hip, reaches a hand between them and grabs at his sweethearts’ as well. “I can feel how much _you_ want it. That all for me?”

Andy’s breath is shaky when he inhales, jaw clenching under Chris’s grip. “Fuck. Yeah, yeah it is, daddy. Want you so bad I feel like I’m fucking dying,” he whispers. 

Chris hums and keeps his hand on Andy’s dick, just holding it possessively through his jeans while he leans in and kisses at the spot under his ear. “You even know what I’m gonna do to you, sweet thing?” he purrs. “The things I want to show you how to like...how to _do_. What do you want, Andy? Tell me,” he orders, squeezing at his dick. 

Andy groans breathily and twists his head to let Chris get a better angle to kiss at his neck while he talks. “Don’t even fucking know, Chris,” he sighs out. “Daddy- want everything. Anything. _Please.”_

Both Chris and his dick very much like the sound of that, unable to contain his reaction when Andy is saying shit like he is. He sucks a mark into Andy’s skin, waits until he has him mewling to pop the button open on his jeans and use both hands to shove them along with his underwear down his thighs. His dick springs free, slapping up against his stomach and smearing his shirt with precome, but Chris doesn’t pay it attention just yet. Instead, he bypasses it to reach around and grab two perfect handfuls of Andy’s equally perfect ass, gripping roughly at the cheeks and relishing in Andy’s gasped response.

“Anything?” he murmurs against his skin. “You’d let me do anything to you, sweetheart? Mmm, anything I wanted.” He lets go of one cheek, uses the other hand to spread his ass wide enough so he can word a dry finger in between and rub against Andy’s twitching hole just to emphasize his next words. “Would you let me taste this hole right here? Lick it ‘til you’re begging me to let you come?”

“Oh,” Andy whispers. “Yes- anything, daddy, I- I’m clean down there. Did it in the shower this morning.” His deep voice is nervous but proud at the same time, obviously seeking Chris’s approval no matter how much admitting this embarasses him. 

Chris’s approval is given. He works his lips back up to Andy’s mouth, kissing him deep and filthy while pressing directly against his hole and letting Andy rub his dick between their stomachs. “Good boy,” he says eventually, smiling when Andy ducks his head and preens. “Making this gorgeous body clean for me. Now, as much as I’d love to get my mouth on you, sweet thing- I gotta tell you, I’m not sure I can wait to fuck you. But this is your first time, so I’ll leave this one decision up to you before I take back over. What do you want right now, Andy?”

Andy’s response is immediate. “Fuck me,” he breathes, pushing his ass back against Chris’s touch. “Daddy- please, fuck me.”

Chris groans and pulls and flush against him with the hand gripping his ass. “Oh, sweetheart. Don’t gotta ask me twice. Where do you wanna take this? I know you got lube in the bedroom but…” he trails off, not wanting to spoil the mood. 

Andy doesn’t seem to care though, nodding fervently. “Might as well make better memories in there,” he smiles shyly. “Can we- daddy?” He nods his head towards the stairs, plaintive expression on his face obviously begging to take this encounter up there. 

Chris grins, sharp and promising, tugging Andy’s briefs and pants back up for him before patting him on the ass and pulling away. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

They both make their way up to the bedroom as quick as they can, Andy whimpering slightly whenever his dick rubs against his pants and Chris not holding back from staring at Andy’s ass while they climb the stairs. God, now that he knows just how perfect it is first hand...he’s not sure he’s going to be able to keep away from it now. Luckily, he doesn’t have to. Not when he’s about to fuck his sweetheart for the first time.

Chris has to pause to grab the lube from Andy’s secret stash box, but once they get inside the bedroom, Andy goes still standing beside the bed, waiting for Chris to direct him like the good boy that he is. Chris obliges, tugging at the hem of Andy’s shirt to signal him to take it off before stripping himself of his own.

“Gonna take you apart,” he groans once Andy’s chest and torso are bared to him for the first time. Chris is nothing shabby to look at himself but _Andy-_ Christ those pecs. Chris wants to latch onto those perfect pink nipples and never let them go. 

Andy stares bashfully back at Chris, taking in his shirtless figure as well. “Promise, daddy?” he asks lowly, looking at him through those obscenely long eyelashes of his. 

Chris crowds close to him and pulls him into a kiss by his belt loops, taking over the kiss slow and dirty. “Have to be a damn fool not to, sweetheart.” he whispers. Andy smiles into the next kiss, and Chris lets them both have a moment to bask in the pure happiness of it before he pulls away and gives Andy another command. “Get naked for me, baby. I got _plans_ for you.”

Andy scrambles to obey, reaching down to shuck off his boots before doing the same with the rest of his clothes while Chris does the same. One day, Chris is going to strip his sweetheart down slow and sweet, worship his body from head to toe until he’s a begging mess. But not today. Today he’s going to fuck him and show him exactly what he’s been missing out on for all this time. In a few moments, they’re both standing naked at the end of the bed, staring at each other hungrily. Chris takes in everything he couldn’t see before- those lean thighs, long legs, flushed cock standing up between sharp hip bones. His baby is beautiful. So beautiful Chris can’t stand to look and not touch again any longer. 

“On the bed, sweet thing. Lay on your back,” he orders, smiling approvingly when Andy obeys immediately, legs bent and feet on the mattress like he knows exactly what Chris is planning to do with him. Chris smirks and thinks about Andy laying in this exact position to fuck himself open and pretend it was his daddy. Maybe he _does_ know. His suspicions are essentially confirmed when Andy spreads his legs seemingly on instinct as Chris climbs on the bed to kneel between his legs and start rubbing possessively at his hole again, lube in hand. “Want me to finger this pretty hole? Have someone else finally do it instead of you?” he teases. 

Andy flushes down past his beard but nods, spreading his legs even further for Chris to work between. “Please.”

“So good for me,” Chris praises. Andy lights up at the words, lights up even more when he hears Chris crack open the lube. Chris can’t resist the opportunity to spout off more filth while he warms it up between his fingers. “You know, I saw that cock ring of yours,” he muses. Andy blushes at the reminder of Chris finding his sex toys, but his dick twitches despite the embarassment. “Think I might like to use it on you one day- but you know what, sweetheart?” he leans down and brings his lube-slick hand with him. “You don’t even need that thing anymore because now you’ve got a daddy who can control when you come instead.” Andy’s responding moan at the words only gets louder when Chris inserts a finger into his ass after saying them, pressing in slow and firm until it’s buried completely inside. 

“Fuck- Chris. Daddy,” Andy exhales, hips squirming down as if to draw the finger further inside. “Feels even better when it’s not my own,” he whispers.

Chris hums and starts moving his finger slowly in and out, stroking his other hand over his own cock in the meantime. Andy reverently tracks both movements, eyes flicking between watching Chris’s wrist flex while he curls his finger and his cockhead peek up from inside his hand with every stroke. “You like to watch, Andy?” Chris asks knowingly. “Well, I guess I better give you something to look at.” With that, he slides in a second finger and presses forward again, crooking them and searching until Andy shouts and Chris is sure that he’s hit his prostate. 

“Daddy,” Andy breathes, back arching. “Oh, god.” 

Chris leans over him and kisses him, fingers moving faster. “Yeah, sweet thing?”

Andy moans again when Chris nails his prostate a second and third time. “Just- even better than I thought it'd be,” he gasps. “Want you to fuck me before I come, please.”

Chris doesn’t stop his steady thrusting, but he does add a third finger, pulling back so take a look of his own at Andy’s hold stretched around him, dark pink and perfectly tight. “You’re so sensitive here, aren’t you?” he murmurs. “Like a goddamn dream. So greedy for it, too, but still asking nicely for my cock to fill you like a good boy.” He pushes firmly against his prostate, deciding after another few moments that Andy is stretched enough to be ready, leaning in again to kiss him quiet as he whimpers at the unrelenting pressure against his sweet spot. “Gonna fuck you now. You ready for that? You got condoms?” he asks quietly, speaking against his lips.

Andy freezes and is quiet for a moment before he suddenly looks like he’s going to cry. “I- no. I don’t actually, I’m so sorry-“ he blurts out, sounding almost devastated at the idea of not getting Chris’s cock after coming so close.

Chris silently curses himself for not asking earlier, but there’s nothing he can do now besides maybe offering- “You trust me, Andy?” he asks quietly, fingers still inside him. The other man nods, not taking his eyes off him. “I’m clean, sweetheart. Promise you that, but if you’re uncomfortable with what I’m suggesting, if you don’t want it like that-“

Andy nods instantly, red faced but eager. “I’m clean too, Chris. Daddy. I _want_ it, I promise.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Okay.” He withdraws his fingers, shushing the whine that Andy lets out at the loss, taking a brief look of admiration at the sight of Andy’s slick and puffy hole before he’s taking a deep breath and guiding the leaking head of his lubed up dick towards Andy’s entrance to press against it. “Tell me if anything hurts.”

The noise Andy lets out as Chris presses inside is one of anything but pain, loud and guttural, for once unashamed of how much he wants this. “Oh, fuck, daddy,” he breathes out, legs curling around Chris’s waist to pull him in further, hands coming up to grip tightly at his shoulders. “Oh, _fuck-_ ‘s so good.”

Chris lets out a groan at the feeling of Andy, tight and hot around him. “You feel fucking perfect,” he grunts out, sinking further inside until he’s buried to the hilt. “Fuck, Andy, you’re so fucking good for me.”

Andy’s cock twitches and he clenches down at the praise, eyes coming up to meet Chris’s tentatively. “Fuck me?” he asks quietly, and who is Chris to say no?

He groans, pulling out and thrusting back in shallowly for the first time, testing the waters. “Oh, my good boy. Daddy is gonna fuck you until you see _stars_.”

With that, he stops holding back, bracing one hand next to Andy’s head and using the other to push his head up for a kiss, hips starting to move forward at a rapidly quickening pace all the while. Andy is crying out at it the first second he moves forward, nails digging into Chris’s shoulders so hard he thinks there’ll probably be bruises. He doesn’t mind. He wants the proof that he had this strong, gorgeous man underneath him being sweet and so perfectly good. Not that he needs physical proof. The sight of Andy Barber’s pecs bouncing underneath him as he fucks into his hole and against his prostate is something that he’ll never forget, especially when he’s moaning out _daddy_ and Chris’s (real) name all the while. 

He doesn’t hear anything about Andy actually seeing stars, but he does moan out a couple _oh, god’s_ that Chris counts as good enough. He asks anyways just to make sure. 

“You like getting fucked by a real cock, sweetheart?” he grunts out, fucking in at a brutal pace. Andy doesn’t answer, just whines underneath him and pants into his mouth. Chris asks again. “Answer me, Andy. Does your hole like being filled with a real cock as much as a fake one? Am I as good as your toys?”

Andy whimpers and nods. “Better, daddy,” he gasps. “Please, can I come? Wanna- wanna come on your cock, wanna come while being fucked.”

Chris groans at the plead and wraps a hand around Andy’s dick, not moving, just holding it possessively. “Think you’re sensitive enough to come from my cock alone? That pretty hole like cock enough to do that for me?”

Andy’s groan practically shudders through his entire body, cock twitching in Chris’s grasp. “I think so, daddy,” he whispers. “I- I did it on my toys sometimes.” He’s taken that shyly pleased tone again, and Chris thinks that maybe it’s one of his favorite sounds in the world. Besides the high moan Andy lets out when Chris squeezes his cock tight and kisses him hotly. 

He pulls back a moment later, gaze intense. “You can come whenever you want as long as it’s from my cock. Gonna hold your pretty dick through it, but I’m not moving my hand. Got it?”

Andy nods, crying out when Chris grinds slow and dirty against his sweet spot. “Got it, daddy,” he rasps. 

“Good boy.”

It takes a minute or two of Chris fucking him faster, but eventually Andy does exactly what Chris asks, arching up sudden and sweet when Chris lands a particularly on-target thrust. “Oh,” he gasps wetly, and that’s all there is before he’s coming hot and wet onto their stomachs and Chris’s hand, whining as Chris fucks him through the aftershocks and starts chasing his own orgasm after he lets his dick go. “You gonna come in me, daddy?” he whispers, shuddering both from the last of his orgasm and the sensitivity beginning to creep in. 

Chris groans and fucks in faster, feeling himself grow towards his own peak, only getting there faster when Andy clenches down tight. “Almost there,” he pants out. “This perfect hole is gonna make me come, can I fill it up as a reward for how good you’ve been?”

Andy nods instantly. “I’ve been good?” he asks breathily, looking at Chris with eyes so sweet and needy for the confirmation that it sends him over the edge, orgasm sharp and intense as he releases into Andy’s hole. 

He’s still panting through the wave of it when he answers him, collapsing on top of him with a groan. “Yeah, Andy. You’re perfect.”

Andy’s responding sigh at the words is satisfied and when Chris looks to get a good look at his face, Andy is practically gone with how blissed out he is. Whether he’s floating from Chris’s cock, all the praise, or maybe both, Chris doesn’t know. But he’s still regretful to disturb him nonetheless when he moves to pull out. Andy makes a low, unhappy noise at the emptiness that follows, but Chris quiets him with a kiss and a finger creeping down to push inside him, pressing the come that’s leaking out of him back where it belongs. In Chris’s sweetheart, his good boy. He tells him as much. “Should get that plug of yours, keep you filled up with me. Remind you of how good you were for your daddy to come inside this hot little hole, you want that?”

Andy nods and moans almost sluggishly, head lolling back on the bed when Chris kisses him gently and climbs off him to go get his plug. He gets a washcloth from the bathroom in the meantime, coming back inside the room to climb on the bed and wipe down Andy’s come from their stomachs before he gets to plugging him up like he said. When he does get to that, he pushes it in slow and sweet, making sure Andy’s got him all inside before he seats the plug in alongside it. Andy exhales hard once he’s done, heads curling around the back of Chris’s head before he hesitantly pulls him in for a kiss. “Thank you, daddy,” he whispers. 

He sounds so vulnerable- _is_ so vulnerable like this- that Chris can’t bear the idea of not protecting him at his best. He kisses him back, slides a hand up to scratch at his beard while he does it. “Gonna get us both under the covers, okay? Wanna lay with you for a while.”

Andy nods and moves slowly to obey once Chris gets off him. They both settle themselves properly in the bed, but when Chris gets himself comfortable against the pillow, he looks over and notices Andy laying stiffly next to him. They’re not touching anymore, and Chris isn’t sure why, but Andy is looking so longingly at his chest that he can’t help but huff and gesture for him to scoot over. 

“What’s the matter, sweetheart, not a cuddler?” he asks, but even then he’s guiding Andy’s head to rest on his chest and wrapping his own arms around his big, beautiful shoulders. 

Andy is quiet for a moment. “Not used to it being this way around, I guess,” he admits softly, and Chris’s heart aches at how long Andy had to go without. 

But he’s not without anymore. Not with Chris. So he pulls him closer and holds him tighter, feeling fiercely protective. “Well get used to it,” he jokes. “Because I am _definitely_ a cuddler.”

Andy snorts and tucks his head under Chris’s chin. “Can tell, daddy.”

“Good.” 

The silence they fall into is comfortable, but Chris knows that they have things to talk about despite it. So he isn’t surprised when Andy pipes up tentatively. “Should we...talk about this?” He sounds wary, like Chris is going to shove him off at the thought. 

He doesn’t. “What exactly do you want to talk about first?” he asks gently. 

There’s a sigh, Andy’s eyelashes tickling his skin as he turns his head to hide his expression. “How I went in _one day_ from the kinkiest thing I’d ever done being having sex in the closet with my wife to...this.”

“You- sex _in the closet_ with your wife?” Chris should feel bad, but he can’t keep the laughter from shaking his chest. He would feel bad, but Andy groans and huffs out a laugh with him. “Oh, sweetheart…”

“I _know._ Don’t say it.”

Chris strokes a soothing hand down his back and surrenders. “Okay, okay.” He pauses. “I don’t know what to say. We had sex. We both liked it. I praised you and told you what to do, we both liked it. You called me daddy, and I’m pretty sure we both liked that, too. The rest...we can figure that out later, Andy. As long as we’re both happy about it right now.” He looks down at him. “You happy?”

“Happier than I’ve been in a long time,” Andy says softly. His voice is genuine. “I just- I wanted to say sorry for yelling earlier. If I messed your work up or…”

Chris is quick to reassure him. “Thank you for the apology, but it’s okay. I mean that. I knew why you were upset. I _got_ it. And you didn’t mess anything up, sweetheart, this is all gonna be over as soon as I get the phone call that they have him in custody.”

Andy swallows and looks up at him with guarded eyes. “And...when it’s over...are we...are you…?”

  
  


“I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to. Could stay and help you finish packing if you want.”

Andy looks painfully relieved, nodding quickly. “I’d like that, daddy. I….” He leans in and kisses him “I like you being here.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Chris promises him. They share a tender kiss, soft and sweet, hands smoothing over skin, but eventually Chris breaks it and looks down at his sweetheart with a teasing smile. “‘Sides, if I help you pack...you got any other stashes of toys I should worry about finding?” he purrs, hand sliding down to press at the handle of the plug inside the other man, a firm reminder of what his daddy just did to him. 

Andy moans and kisses him desperately. When he pulls back he’s got a happy smile on his face with a matching blush to go with it. “You’ll just have to wait and see. Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise, would I?”

Chris groans and grips at his ass, smiling against his lips. “I can think of a few things I can ruin in the meantime,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, daddy?”

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

  
(They’re so busy necking that they almost miss the sound of Chris’s cell ringing in his jeans, but when he eventually untangles himself enough to go answer, the knowledge and relief that Andy is _safe_ just makes everything that much better.)

**Author's Note:**

> begging for feedback as usual <3


End file.
